One for the Road
by Werewolf of Fire
Summary: For the February Flashfic exchange: Alan wants one last kiss.


**Disclaimer: **Simply put... All the characters and ideas canon to _MAR: Marchen Awakens Romance _belong to Nobuyuki Anzai, and I make no money off this. The OCs, however, belong to me, as does whatever plot that shines through.

_Warnings:_ Slash and some swearing. Warnings will change every chapter. Other than that, all spelling/grammatical errors are my own. If you spot any, mention them and I will fix them. I also have no sense of English living, all of it is from my brain.

* * *

**One for the Road**

Silence has become something of a myth over the past two days. MAR Heaven has been a melting pot of cheering revellers, tears of relief and the falling wails of the remains of the Chess army. The castle's vibrating with the noise. But the small room leading off from Alan's quarters are surprisingly quiet - when it comes to actual people noise.

Frankly, Alan doesn't know what to call the racket Danna is making whilst slurping, gulping and _tearing_ his food apart with his teeth and hands. Or perhaps wondering whether he should call Danna a man or an animal would be more fruitful? He hasn't decided; the decision is much too hard. But he'll keep at it, as he slowly makes his way through his own large, rich smelling and deliciously seasoned roast. Alan's always been stubborn.

He reaches for a golden goblet, and hides his smirk behind it as he remembers his parents' plight whilst he'd been growing with it. As a baby he'd made it clear that he loathed pumpkin with a passion, hated baths and preferred rolling around in the mud to sitting on his mother's lap with a stuffed and crudely made rabbit to keep him amused. As a teenager, he'd been kicked out of the house after back-chatting his father when the man had told him to help his mother around the yard whilst he was gone. He'd returned a few days later, hungry and with his pride dented like a damaged piece of red-hot metal under a blacksmith's hammer. He'd also broken up with his first girlfriend over his inability to admit he'd been wrong despite having all the evidence laid out before him like a hearty buffet of shame and humiliation. He'd regretted that for a long time afterward; she'd been a pretty, lovely girl.

He hasn't changed much over the years. He allows himself to be wrong, he allows himself to bend, instead of breaking and he knows when it's best to retreat. He doesn't regret much now, unless he's fallen into a bottle – he'd found it useless to. But he's still the pig headed country bumpkin his mother had always shaken her head and smiled amusedly at.

It's also the only reason he hasn't sought refuge amongst drunken revellers, slowly turning to hungover zombies with rebuilding their homes yet.

"Alan, you're doing that frowny thing that makes your face all wrinkly again."

Danna sends him an odd, actor frown, as he points to the centre of his own forehead.

Alan swallows thickly, huffing and whacking at his own chest when a piece of pork holds in his throat. He coughs, eyes narrowed, "No, I'm not."

"Yeah, you are," Danna leans across the table, smudging peas over the front of his shirt as he lifts a large, fork filled hand, "Y'see, they're right _there_."

Alan goes cross eyed trying to see where exactly on his forehead the man is pointing, despite being able to feel where Danna's poking with annoying enthusiasm.

"You have them too, you idiot."

"No, I don't! I'm not old."

"We're the same age!"

Danna grins, laughs raucously and sits down as Alan seethes. Steam might as well be pouring from the brunette's ears as he gnashes his teeth so hard his jaw starts to ache. It's not as though he cares about his appearance – if he did, he doubted he'd wear the scars he carries with the pride of a lion – but hearing Danna refer to his 'superior aging' again and again is wearing his nerves tissue thin.

The blonde man ignores his state though, and continues to eat. He goes back to his vegetables first, shovelling them in at a rate that would amaze even Ginta and still managing to not choke on it. It's when he gets to the gravy that Alan looks away. He's never had a weak stomach but the sight of Danna's mashed potatoes slowly being swirled in with the rich maroon sauce always manages to make his stomach bubble uncomfortably.

Danna's cheeks are flushed pink with excitement though; either because he's finally getting the huge, 'awesome' and outright scrumptious meal he was promised or because Ginta's staying with Jack and Snow's spending time with her father at their rather dingy holiday house. As it stands, they're able to catch up without worrying about being interrupted.

But there isn't a lot of catching up unfolding.

Alan leans back, rattling his plate as he pushes it away and pushes himself out from the table. A large, calloused hand delves into his jacket's pocket, pulling out his cigarettes from the worn, white material. Danna continues to eat eagerly as Alan brings one to his lips. With a hiss and a flare of golden orange, it's lit. The smoke glows bright scarlet before fading to black with every intake the brunette makes. Alan released a huge cloud of smoke, facing away from the table, his broad, large body half turned in his seat.

His meal is no where near finished. But Alan doesn't care; not really. He'll eat when he's hungrier; he'd had a large afternoon snack; he'd thought this would happen.

It's been two days since the end of the second War Games. It's been two days since their small breaks started, and two days since Ginta and Danna reunited and slapped Alan in the face with facts he'd been denying for the few months before Danna's 'death'. In two days, his stomach has twisted itself into such a tight and complicated knot, Alan doubts even the most practised or gifted sailors could undo it.

Alan had been hit – pummelled black and blue on the inside – by reality's harsh hands mere hours after their victory had been sealed. His famous stubbornness couldn't help him deny facts now. Ginta is proof of Danna's old stories, featuring a beautiful woman with a heated temper and a little boy with his father's grin and love for adventure. It's taken him six years to fully take it in, but Danna is a _married _man. He's a married man with a brave son, and he loves both Ginta and his wife very dearly. So dearly it makes the man glow in ways that make Alan's blood heat and his eyes glue themselves to the man's tanned face obsessively.

But not even Alan's stubbornness can overcome this realisation; It's hard for Alan to keep to his old tune when the drum was keeping beat to a completely different song. Not even when Danna was keen on playing the part of a tease as well, before the blonde retreats when Alan does gather up enough nerve to attempt more. Alan almost starts thinking he's been reading the blonde incorrectly since he'd come back.

"You want your potatoes?"

Alan blinks lazily at the blonde, before leaning forward to push his ceramic plate towards him, "Might as well not waste it."

The brunette can't help but hide his resulting smile behind a hand as he reaches for his smoke; the food's disappeared mere moments later, with a grateful grin and a half smothered 'thanks'.

He slides into his last train of thought with the ease of a snake disappearing into a burrow; he's had lots of practice over the years.

Alan's found it hard to keep Danna's company since he's returned. It's not through a lack of trying; the first few hours after their reunion, Alan hadn't been able to keep his trap shut. But as time had wore on and an hour turned to three, and three turned into a day, the bubbly idiot's company had felt nothing less than sickeningly _awkward_.

"I'm was going home soon," Danna had said. He was going home with Ginta to see his wife, and kiss her and hold her. He was going to tell her it was alright as she teared up, he would rub away the ache when she smacked him in the arm because of a supposedly unsuccessful joke, and then head for cover before she maimed him.

But that doesn't help clear anything in Alan's mind. Danna had said plenty of things like that before, during the first War Games.

Are they continuing as they had before Danna had 'died'? Where the hell did Alan stand when it came to the blonde? Was Danna going to simply forget about it all, now that he had a sure way of returning home? Alan's more confused than he had been at school, when they'd trudged through their maths class.

Still, Alan's pig-headed. If he wants to make this better he will. He'll fix what ever's between them, even if he has to tie their legs and arms together to do it.

So Alan squashes out his smoke on the edge of his plate, listening to it sizzle in the gravy loitering around the edges, before he smirks at Danna and propositions him to one of their favourite pastimes. Danna's up and ready for a drink once the man's put all the food to bed.

* * *

The Horse'n Stag is a seedy pub. It's an outback place, hidden behind a thick wall of trees so tall they hold hands with the sky. The paint's stripped off its outer shell, a few specks holding on for their lives until their grasps give way with a particularly vicious gale. There's a hole the size of Alan's fist in the roof, half of the place's windows are smashed or have spider webs spun into the glass. It wreaks of grog and stale cigarette smoke, whilst the dastardly murmurs of mischievous bastards linger in his ears like a dull itch.

Alan likes the place though. He doesn't need to waste a single cigar when he's inside, and the beer's price isn't too steep either. Not that the owners could possibly get away with it, if they did want to rip them off; Alan knows most of the regulars carry some sort of sharp, pointy weapon concealed somewhere on their being. Alan doesn't want to think about the muck covered one-offs with their smug smirks, thin faces and their shadowed eyes – the war's over and he's on his off time. He won't think about blood, bruises or death until after lunch tomorrow.

"Six years and you're still coming here?"

Alan ignores the grinning blonde trudging along side him, instead homing in on the rickety, wrinkled door. Danna doesn't take his silence personally – if anything, his grin broadens until Alan's sure his face will split in two. It's a teasing grin, one that makes Alan want to clap a large hand over Danna's shoulder and smack him at the same time. He smirks, his dark eyes falling so they're watching where he puts his feet, so he doesn't slip in the small mud-puddles entrenched here.

The door shrieks as they walk in. The door's knocker throws abuse at them. It tells them off as the two men trudge inside, their boots caked in dirt and the bottoms of their pants soaked. Danna grins at it, regarding it with as much childish glee as he had the first time they'd been acquainted.

"Still alive, Louis?"

"I'll give you alive! What business do you have walking in here like that after six years?" The knocker points it's beak at Danna's lower half, before squawking again, "You're up to your ass in muck!"

"Not dirty enough for you, huh?"

The corner of Alan's lip curls up as he watches the two banter as though there hadn't been a six year gap between Danna's last visit and now. Louis is a permanent fixture around the Horse'n Stag. He was a very handsome knocker in his youth. Once, he'd been a polished golden red, regal and as proud as an eagle, as he waited for unsuspecting guests to snap at. He does the same now to the newcomers, but instead of the well cared for, polished knocker he'd been, he's now murky green, caked in dirt and appears to be as wise as his appearance promises him to be. Now he's an owl, not an eagle – and is grouchier than Alan remembers his Pop being.

They continue to chat; Louis' voice settling into a content hoot as Danna gives him an only slightly embellished and quick recollection of his time with the Orb, and as he fills the knocker in on his son.

"I'll introduce you to Ginta! He's exactly like me."

"I'll remind Tasha about purchasing those mufflers then."

Alan lets them be, instead striding towards the bar. He snags two empty stools, dropping himself onto one and swinging his legs up so his feet are settled comfortably on the supports connecting two of its three legs. Alan's lazy gaze slides around the pub. The Horse'n Stag isn't as full as it usually is and he wonders idly if he'd been right when he'd thought he'd recognised one of the Chess' rook's knobbly knees and the ages old tunic.

He's snapped out of his reverie by a large, warm hand clapping itself over his shoulder, and finds his line of vision invaded by a gargantuan grin and bright blonde hair.

"Hey, Alan, did you know Louis can sing? He said he'll give us his own rendition of _Bop Him on the Head_ when we're next over and sober. I don't think I remember that one... Is it the one about the clowns or the one about the drunk that ended up drinking shoe polish?"

"The drunk. The clown one's called _Bop It With a Smile_."

Danna chuckles, "Oh yeah." He says, as a hand finds its way to the back of his head. He scratches there, still grinning, before he leans over the dirty bar and shouts for attention.

"Hey sir, sir – yeah – oh! Uh, my apologies, miss..."

The lady peers down at him, unimpressed and threatening. Her arms are thick and wrinkled, flabby and strong as she throws the now empty keg she'd been moving to her partner. She grunts when Danna can't make his lips do anything than grin sheepishly and his voice come out as more than a sharp giggle.

"We'll have two of the cheapest you have." Alan speaks up, his voice laced with mirth as he slaps his hand over Danna's left shoulder, "Ignore the idiot. He's new." He smirks at Danna, "Sort of."

* * *

"So you were trapped in the body of a dog," Danna says conversationally, as he swirls golden liquid around in its confines, "How'd that feel?"

He stops swirling his drink and takes a long, loud gulp. He then sets it down in front of him. He holds it fondly, as though it's an old friend, and turns back to Alan.

The brunette snorts, "Cramped."

Alan finishes his drink, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with his swallows. He drops his own beverage to the damp bar, and wipes his mouth with the back of his other hand.

He continues, "He's not built to fit a man like me in him."

"I think I saw the one; that guy Edward, right?" Danna's grin is full of sly suggestions, as though he's mentally ribbing Alan.

His drink is completely gone before he nods and blinks lazily at Danna. He's feeling a definite buzz now, as the alcohol starts to mingle with the blood sprinting through his veins. Danna looks to be in the same state, as he rocks to a beat Alan can't hear. Alan almost wants to reach out and – His hand halts in mid air. He quickly waves for another beer.

"I didn't get to choose who I shared a body with, dumb ass. And it's fairly straight forward how I got stuck in Ed: Phantom thought it'd be hilarious." He nods his thanks to Carol, before he continues, "But that's not the real mystery here. How the hell did you manage to get taken over by an Orb?"

"It was a very glowy ball!" Danna exclaims with passion, his hands rising as his fingers twitch maniacally, "You know I have a soft spot for them! It just appeared in front of me and I couldn't help but go and have a look at what it was."

Alan levels a heavy stare at him, "There wasn't anything in front of you. You were fighting Phantom."

"That's the thing! One moment I'm fighting Phantom, the next there's this huge shiny, floaty thing in front of me." Danna swivels in his seat so his knees are facing his best mate, "I remember thinking, 'this is probably a trap', 'cause it's a bit coincidental when you zip out of a battlefield and meet this funky orb – but I swear, I just couldn't stop my feet from moving. There was this voice – I swear it was Rina's – that kept calling me towards it..."

Alan just holds his mug and listens, bristling slightly at Mrs. Torimizu's name. His chest feels like it's curling itself up, and at the same time he's so amused he can't hold back a smirk. Danna's always been a fool. He'd always told him his habit of forgetting he had a working brain would catch up to him; he'd bet anything that if Danna hadn't a 'thing' as he calls it, for 'glowy' balls, he wouldn't have been led on so easily.

Or so he thinks, he thinks. Alan's brain's reception is starting to go fuzzy.

As Danna continues talking about nothing and everything all at once, the beer flows steadily between them; their without a drink for barely 30 seconds. Alan's happy with the arrangement, though he does stuff his own comments and observations in when he feels the need; it's always amusing to see Danna's face break into a sheepish grin when he realises just how stupid he'd been.

They take turns when they start to recall memories. Alan's the one to start this time. He talks about how his father used to hate cabbage so much he'd push the soggy mess onto his son's plate whilst his wife's back was turned, and glare when Alan couldn't hold back his snickers. He'd give him his carrots in return though; Alan hates the things. He doesn't care if his eyesight deteriorates so much he's seeing night all the time, he won't eat the things. He spins a story nowhere near as grand or thrilling as Danna and his son's, about his the first time he went hunting, and the first time he'd gutted a grilby because of it. He can't help but smile crookedly as he remembers how he'd jumped and shrieked when the thing had kept running, even though he'd taken its head clean off.

He then explains how his father and him used to work as blacksmiths – the master and his apprentice.

"I'd gotten pretty good," Alan says mildly, "Pa, was starting to let me work on customers' pieces. He'd check 'em over, of course; can't trust a kid's work when your family's livelihood is balanced on it's quality. I started getting it right, eventually. Then rumours of a war started, and my pa and I were sent off for training. 'Just in case', and all that."

Alan raises the thick, wooden mug to his lips, "He ended up fixing the army's swords and armour, while I ran laps around the castle and made more work for him."

Danna grins, makes a comment that makes Alan's nostalgia lessen until it's nibbling at his little toe. Then he beams at the back wall, his slightly foggy eyes finding the ceiling as he starts grabs his own needles and sews his own tales.

Unlike Alan, he manages to stay upbeat, even when he's scowling at the murky glasses sitting on the dusty shelves behind Carol. She's a big girl though, and her invading the blonde's gaze makes him turn to glare at Alan, as he finishes his tale with a flourish.

"And the moral of that story was that you should just get a new garbage bag when the original one breaks, instead of trying to stick it together with sticky tape, no matter how cute your baby son is."

Alan can't help but smirk at that one. Especially at the dead serious face Danna's sending his way. His eyebrows make a cut line across his forehead, practically merging with his upper eyes. He leans in close again. Alan cringes away, nose wrinkling at Danna's rank, burning breath.

"Y'do have wrinkles y'know." Danna says, "I'm not lying."

He doesn't seem to mind the deadpan stare equivalent to that of an extremely unimpressed wife, he receives or the palm to the face he receives; Alan's had enough.

* * *

They've been kicked out. They laugh loudly and swear, stumble and wobble around like newborn foals trying to make their legs work before they manage to calm themselves down enough to assess their situation. They can't walk by themselves; they've drunk too much.

It takes them a few moments to roll and crawl close enough so they're lugging each other onto their feet and try to keep the other from toppling over as they do. They eventually find purchase against each other, as Alan wraps an arm around Danna's neck and Danna's rests comfortably around Alan's waist, before they start the staggering, zigzag, drunken walk they've come to expect from each other.

The cold air's hitting them like an eager child greeting a relative they haven't seen for an eternity, breathing cooling kisses on their flushed skin as they loop towards a nearby glade. They'll sleep off their night there, before Edward finds and lectures them about proper manners and how sleeping on rotting logs isn't good for their backs. Alan already dreads it; the mutt's voice is like two sheets of well crafted metal sliding against each other and he isn't blessed with hangover free mornings. He's somewhat glad Danna will suffer also...

Alan finds the world teetering dangerously, like a boat on water during a thunderstorm. He wraps his arm around Danna's broad, fur covered shoulders tighter, hoping the man will help keep him upright, only to find himself feet over ass in the mud. The brunette shifts, his jacket squelching stomach churningly as the mud shifts with him. He turns to regard Danna, finding his vision slightly fuzzy at the corners, as though he's looking through concave glass. Danna seems to have given up on moving for the night; he's rolled over onto his back, and has set his shoulder blades against one side of the ditch as he hooks his legs over the other. He's gazing up at the sky as thoughtfully as a drunk man can. Alan moves to mimic him, nestling the bottle of grog between them as he finds a small comfort I the fact that he now knows he's not moving, even if the world is.

"Y'know," Danna says slowly, as he trips into a ditch, "I haven't seen my wife in six years."

Alan slowly turns to stare at him, as he pulls his pony tail out from under him. It's soppy wet and dripping muck, staining his hand which in turn dirties the bottle.

Danna continues, "She probably thinks I'm dead. Or left her – she'd think that was worse, you know. She's got a killer temper..." He swings his head to the right, rolling slightly so he can grin at Alan, "Have I told you about the time she nearly planted me head first in the toaster?"

"Was that after or before the washing incident?"

"After… I think."

"Nah." Alan takes a swig of alcohol, enjoying the burn as it distracts him from Danna's tale; he doesn't want to think of Mrs. Torimizu, "You only got to the washing incident."

"She thought I was mocking her. She's kinda sensitive, y'know?" The man chuckles, as his eyes turn to the dark grey, cloud stuffed sky, "And she was four months pregnant with Ginta, so her hormones were out of whack. It was a dangerous time in general..."

Alan finds his friend's words growing fuzzier as his story continues. He's never really enjoyed listening to stories about Danna's wife. He knows she's a children's writer, that her favourite colour is turquoise and that her favourite word seems to be 'idiot' – or perhaps, 'shut up'. Or was that two? Either way, she sounds like a witch, weird potions and all.

Sharp, tangy alcohol slices at Alan's tongue when he takes another swig, and then another, just for the hell of it. Danna seems lost in his memories, his eyes half closed as he smiles dreamily up at the stormy sky. He'll be asleep soon, Alan knows. They used to fall asleep in this ditch every time they went out for a drink or more. Though it was nowhere near as wet and squelchy as it is now.

The mud is like dirty ice; it's steadily getting colder in MAR Heaven, as winter slowly creeps into their company. Alan feels goosebumps prickle at his skin with every passing wind.

"She's probably got worry-lines as bad as yours about now..."

Alan hears the whisper. He curses the wind for carrying it to his ears; does the world want him twisting himself into bloody knots? Can he not get any peace of mind? He lays down beside Danna, tossing away the last bit of drink. He knows he's had enough.

Danna's bared elbow is frigid against his arm, and his own tanned skin is riddled with bumps, whilst his hair sticks up and brushes against Alan's far too sensitive skin. His breath is warm though. Alan can tell; it keeps puffing out of his mouth as steady, white smoke from a house's chimney before dinner.

He remembers dinner suddenly, as though he has been hit by lightning, and all the flirtatious winks, playful grins and – and especially his foot. And suddenly it doesn't seem like such a bad idea. To go through with it. They're wet and muddy, sloshed and feeling more than a bit bubbly – Alan can't see where there's a problem.

The mud squishes and squelches under him, as Alan moves so he's practically draped over Danna. It takes quite a bit of effort on his part, to set himself somewhat upright, as he leans over the blonde, with his elbows on either side of his head. Alan can't get any higher – he doesn't need to be, not matter what his swimming brain thinks.

"Y'sleep?" He mumbles, his lips feeling numb from the cold.

Danna's eyes are closed, and his face is set into a peaceful smile as his breathing regulates itself to a slow tempo. He nods slowly, his breath searing Alan's chin, as well as his chapped, thin lips.

"Good."

The world spins mightily fast as the brunette attempts to descend on the prone form. It causes him to pause, bury his head in Danna's neck and shoulder and to take a few heaving breathes. He's had too much to drink...

"Y'put them 'way t'day." Danna murmurs, just before his freezing hand curls around Alan's neck. It burns.

Alan groans quietly.

"G'to sleep."

He just might. Alan can't keep his eyes open; the world's pirouetting around him like mad – as though it's hit the crescendo and its audience is about to burst with the suspense. His head is starting to feel like that too.

"C'n't hold y'liqour." Danna continues, "Should'a learnt from b'fore."

"Shut up. Y're the one talking like an idiot."

"What y'doing 'nyway?"

Alan has been asking himself the same question. He doesn't know what the hell he's doing. First he's sick, then he's jealous, then he's combined the two into a toxic tumour that sits in his stomach and makes him more irritable than usual...

He wants Danna, he knows that much. But he also knows the man will go home. He _knows _that. The blonde's always held his family's memory close to his heart, and with Ginta around to show him just how awesome his old life and home is, there's no doubt in Alan's mind that he'll return to his wife's arms.

He swallows thickly, his lips pressed tight against Danna's fiery throat, before he's straining to raise himself to his elbows again. Danna attempts to help, but only manages to dirty his nowhere-near-white jacket further.

"Want one for the road." He mumbles so lowly he can barely hear himself. He repeats it after he clears his throat, louder this time and curls his own large, mud covered hand under Danna's head, pulling lightly.

Danna's eyes are at half mast. He's more asleep than awake, his mind working at rate that snails could compete with. His eyelids droop dangerously low, making him look even more delectable as Alan tilts the man's head back and lifts it as much as he can.

Sharp pain draws Danna awake, as his head's shaken from side to side and he finds Alan peering down at him as though he's trying to decide whether to eat or sleep on him.

Alan's arms are trembling, his shoulders aching. He's so drowsy he wouldn't be surprised if he dropped off to sleep right then and there. But he wants an answer before either of them gets any sleep. He wants whatever the hell was between them ended for good, before they sleep, find their brains and realise just how stupid they were to get so drunk with stray Chess wandering the world still.

"Well?" His voice is gruff and raspy, as he urges, "Yes 'r no?"

Alan feels his insides tighten and harden into stone, as he steels himself for what he knows will be a heavy blow. It's one of those incidences where he'd have loved to be wrong...

Danna shakes his head so slowly, Alan has to ask again to make sure he'd gotten the right message. And it's like something inside of him has been clenched hard by a icy hand.

Alan can't breathe. His lungs stop working, his heart halts and his blood turns to snow. Knowing the outcome hadn't helped soften the punch; Alan's shocked. He isn't surprised though. When he and Danna had first started running about, meeting for their 'quality time', Alan had told Danna it wasn't serious. There was a war on and sleeping together relieved some of the stress, allowed them to take a few long moments away from the slowly decaying world around them. Alan had been the only one to put forward more than they'd agreed to in the beginning.

Slowly, the pregnant pause gives birth to Alan's functions working again. They creep awake, until Alan's panting, his fists clench and the snow in his veins becomes cluggy as it melts. He then feels it start to warm, and boil.

He gropes at Danna's collar, curling drunkenly weak fingers around strained and soaked fabric. Alan sloppily jostles him as violently as he can, slamming Danna back into the mud as soon as he's left it. Alan growls and grunts as he pulls himself up to loom over the blonde, and demands to know, "why not, you ass?!" so loud he's sure Nanashi can hear him from Luberia.

Danna doesn't offer him an explanation. He seems dazed, or that his brain's left that universe. Alan briefly wonders if it's the alcohol, before he shucks that thought off and tries to stoke the fire that's giving him the shaky strength slowly slipping from him. His vision goes blurry as he brings a trembling fist up and smashes it into what he thinks is Danna's face – it certainly feels like it.

"Bastard!" He spits as he snarls down at Danna.

He doesn't see the fist that knocks him back, or the one that puts out his lights.

* * *

"Aaaah, you punch too hard!"

"You deserved it, dumbass. Who the hell pisses off a drunk?"

"Hey, I was drunk too!"

Alan blows his nose wetly and loudly, cringing slightly at the greenish-yellow goo that goes through the thin, pink and dainty hankies the Princess had given him once she'd discovered him sniffling.

He's got a headache, his nose has been constantly running and his entire body aches so bad he can barely stand to move. His insides seem content to knock the contents of his stomach around also, as though rebelling his infecting them all with that crappy alcohol the night before.

"That's no excuse."

"What about you then? Groping me as you were – do you do that to all the handsome men you fall into ditches with?"

"Shut up, before I kill you."

His day hasn't been peaceful: Snow has him wrapped in layer upon layer of scratchy fabric, Edward comes in at regular intervals to both lecture them and check their ailments, and Ginta rampages into the room with Babbo in toe to cause them as much pain as humanly possible without having to step within five feet of their beds. He just wants to be left alone, and to possibly have a bowl of his mother's vegetable broth.

But that's impossible. Alan's not had an easy time attempting to get Danna or his son to shut the hell up, just as he's not been able to convince the Princess that six thick, woollen blankets of all colours is more than enough for him. He feels like he's roasting in them.

"You wouldn't kill the guy that saved your life."

"Give me five minutes to empty my stomach and I'll prove you wrong."

"Aw, c'mon Alan! You heard what Snow said: you're not allowed to maim, torture or breathe too hard for a few days."

He'll be hard pressed to not do the first two, if Danna continues. Alan rolls over so his back is towards the black eye bearing blonde, and closes his dark eyes with the hope of getting some peaceful rest. Danna's laughter makes him smile into the plush pillow, even as he winces because of the resulting whining his stained purple cheek lets off.

It's odd, Alan decides, how the air feels clearer between them now. It's as though there had been a fog permeating the air around them without his realising it. It's cleared now, though; Alan knows where he stands.

That doesn't mean it Alan won't flatten the blonde; his earlier threat was made with steely sincerity. And it doesn't mean he isn't somewhat disappointed. They'd had fun, and Danna's been a source of much amusement and pain since he crash landed in MAR Heaven. He'd inspired a lot, brought hope and dragged them all down into the dark recesses of sadness when he'd supposedly died.

He's an annoyance Alan would keep around if he could.

"You asleep, Alan? Want me to get you another wet cloth? You look like you planted your face in a tin of violet paint..."

Then again, he supposes getting rid of him for the time being wouldn't hurt...

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**Woffy: **I got lost as to where I was going with this. I know what I wanted to do and I tried to accomplish that, but it just got away from me. So yes, this fails epically – I decided to stop before I butchered it further. I'll be back later to improve on it, so critique is welcome.

Written for the February round of our new Flashfic challenge. I encourage you to get involved in the March round, people! And I'm so freakin' sorry I'm late! I can make all the excuses in the world, but it all comes down to poor time management on my part.

I apologise, Requester, for the lack of unexpectedness and witty banter (I'm afraid I suck at it) and everything else.


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